


Get (the Bile) Off

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-19
Updated: 2009-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully helps Mulder get clean after his encounter with Tooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get (the Bile) Off

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://scooly42.livejournal.com/profile)[**scooly42**](http://scooly42.livejournal.com/), my PIP (Partner In Porning) to inspire her for her lovely [](http://xf-is-love.livejournal.com/profile)[**xf_is_love**](http://xf-is-love.livejournal.com/) day.

He smells like the hard-boiled Easter egg your mother hid under the couch, only to forget about it until a month later. He kind of looks like it too, though sloppily painted with streaks of yellow, black, orange and red.

"This is bullshit," he says on the drive back to his place. The plastic garbage bags they've obtained from the janitor crinkle under his weight on the seat. She looks at him and tries not to laugh. It's not funny. It isn't.

"Mulder, I'd think you'd be thrilled," she says, looking back out the windshield with a smirk. "You're covered from head to toe in definitive evidence that the paranormal does indeed exist, albeit in the form of a bile-secreting, liver-gobbling monster who resembles Alfalfa."

He casts a quick glare her way. "Alfalfa wasn't a shape-shifting serial killer."

She arches her eyebrow and catches his eye. "It'd make The Little Rascals infinitely more tolerable."

x x x x

They walk into his apartment and she heads for the kitchen drawer for a garbage bag for his clothes. He emphatically kicks off his shoes. She shakes it open and holds it for him as he tears off his white-- _used_ to be white--dress shirt, crumples it up and lands it in the bag. The vile secretions covering him have soaked through the fabric by now and the skin is nearly as dirty as his clothes. He pulls his undershirt over his head and it goes into the bag too.

"I'm burning these clothes," he says, unbuckling his belt. She catches herself staring at his chest too long and shifts her eyes to the window of his living room. He sheds his pants and shoves them so hard into the bag she nearly drops it. Then he turns and heads for the bathroom.

"I'm sure you could take them to a dry cleaner," she says.

"You know, you're really cracking me up tonight," he shoots over his shoulder, slamming his bedroom door behind him. She smiles and tosses her suit jacket onto the arm of his couch. She shoves a pile of newspapers and magazines aside to plop down and put up her feet.

She hears the shower start running as she listlessly pages through a three-week-old Weekly World News. "IS LOCH NESS MONSTER ACTUALLY MASSIVE PREHISTORIC BEAVER?" leads, and as she peruses the photographic evidence, it seems fairly obvious to her that whatever this creature in the water is, man-made or natural, it has an obscenely large tail.

She flips to the next page.

"Scully?" she hears from the bathroom. She furrows her brow and tosses the paper to the table. She walks over to his bedroom door.

"Yeah?" she calls.

"I... well, could you come here a second?"

Her brow furrows further. "Why?"

He's quiet for a moment. "If you ever want me to smell like a decent human being again, you might have to help me out here."

She turns the handle and walks into the bedroom. There's steam sifting out of the cracked bathroom door and she walks over to it, nudging it open a few inches. It squeaks.

"I'm here," she says. She watches his shadow just beyond the shower curtain, biting her lip.

"There's a spot on my back I can't reach," he says. "My damned arms are so sore, I can't twist quite right to scrub there, and I can't live with the idea of a square inch of unscrubbed skin at this point."

She scans the bathroom, then opens up the cabinet under the sink. She hunches down and peers into it. "Don't you have a back brush?" she asks.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"No." she slams the cabinet door shut. "Now I know what you're getting for Christmas."

"So much for the element of Christmas surprise," he answers. She walks over to the shower curtain and sneaks her hand past the side of it.

"Give me the soap," she says. "And your washcloth."

She feels the bar of soap slip into her hand and waits.

"Yeah," he says.

"You don't have a washcloth either?" she says, starting to get irritated. She might as well buy him an entire spa basket.

"A man uses his hands," he answers.

She draws back her hand, gripping the slippery soap, and moves to the other side of the curtain. She rubs her hands together and moves the curtain aside. She's a little, but not entirely, surprised when she feels her heartbeat quickening at the sight of his bare back and all regions lower.

"So where's this spot?" she asks, shifting her eyes to the tiled bathroom wall.

"Kinda..." He twists his arm around and she hears him hiss through his teeth. Tooms knocked the shit out of him, and he's feeling it now. He points raggedly at his middle back. "Back here."

"Okay," she says. She leans in a little, a mist of water hitting her face and blouse. Of course she's wearing a white blouse today, of all days. She takes one soapy hand and places it on his back, trying not to think about the remnants of bile on his skin.

She slides her hand down his spine and with every inch, forgets about Tooms and his bile a little more easily. The muscle of his back is hot and firm under her fingers. She presses her palm against his middle back and rubs in a circle. He sucks in a deep breath.

"Did I hurt you?" she asks, easing up a bit. "You're going to be sore for a few days."

"Yeah, it's sore, but it's okay," he says. "It feels good."

Her heart pounds in her chest as she slips her hand up and down his back, probably more spots than he really needs her to help with, but she justifies it by convincing herself that he might have missed a spot here and there. And she's sure, though she's without any concrete scientific evidence, that bile is unhealthy for the skin.

"Do doctors learn how to bathe people?" he asks. He actually sounds _serious_.

She laughs and runs her hand down his back to the swell of his ass, stopping just above it. Her fingers jump against his skin, as if they're begging her to keep going. "Are you asking if we take a course in sponge bathing? No. It's fairly elemental."

"Too bad, I'd volunteer for that class," he mumbles with a sigh.

They're quiet for pregnant moments. She keeps running her hand over his slick back, then lets the other one join. He's blocking most of the water but her sleeves are getting wet anyway. She's going to have to change into one of his t-shirts to go home. The idea sets off a small twinge in her abdomen.

She pushes both hands over his back, all the way up to his shoulders, all the way down to his hips. He hums a little, lowering his chin to his chest.

"Do you..." she pauses, her hands lingering on his sides. "Do you think you're good?"

They're silent again, and she starts having thoughts, thoughts she knows she shouldn't be having. The kind of thoughts a woman has late at night when she's alone and lonely and thinking about her partner and how alone and lonely he is as well.

She jumps a little when she feels his hand on her wrist. He doesn't turn around.

"Come in," he says, his voice nearly a whisper. "Come in here with me."

She loses her breath and stands perfectly still. She doesn't breathe until her lungs threaten mutiny. Then she pulls her hands away from him and slides the curtain closed.

Her wet blouse is clinging to her skin and she pulls it over her head, dropping it on the floor. Her mind feels devoid of most thought, as if her body is acting on its own accord. She takes off her pants and her underwear and bra. She's shaking, and she's not sure if it's a good or a bad shake. Then she walks back to the curtain, peering inside again.

His back is still turned to her, so she steps into the back of the tub and closes the curtain behind her. She feels hot water speckling her face, her breasts, her tummy, her legs, the water that passes by his lanky body.

"I'm here," she says softly, putting her hand on his lower back again. He doesn't move. She steps closer and can feel the heat radiating from him. She closes her eyes and presses her lips against his back, lingering on the wet skin there. She slides her hands onto his hips and moves her lips gently against him, kissing the spot slowly. She hears him breathe deeply and feels her skin tingling all over.

She lets her tongue have the first taste of his skin, a light touch at first, then backing away.

"What are we doing?" she whispers, her lips grazing his back.

"Don't think," he whispers.

She flicks her tongue against him again, then licks his skin, tasting nothing but water, feeling goose bumps rise. She slides her hands around his waist and flattens her palms against the front of his hips. Her chest presses into his lower back, her tummy into his firm ass, and she licks him again, a broader swipe upward this time. He moans and she moans back, as if on instinct.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, pressing into her more firmly. Her fingers run circles over his hipbones and she's panting against the skin of his back.

The hot water is running down her hands and arms, is running along his torso in streams that she decides to follow with her hand. She slides it slowly to the middle of his stomach, then inches it lower. She pauses at the soft hair on his groin. She feels a tension between them, an electric current binding them together in this moment, and her nerve endings are on overload. Every point pressed against the warm skin of his back feels like it's on fire.

"You feel good," she says, her voice quiet and steady, her fingers twitching against him. She lets her hand slide an inch further down while the other one grips his hip tightly.

"Yeah," he breathes. She feels him move and his palm grazes her arm. She's wrapped around him, so he can't reach any spot where she's aching to be touched. But she can reach him.

She circles his hard cock with her fingers and he sucks in a quick breath. She squeezes him firmly and plants tiny kisses against her new favorite spot on his back. She licks it as she slides her hand up his length, then back down.

"God, Mulder," she whispers, pressing her cheek against him.

"Please." She can barely hear him over the hissing of the shower head. She holds him tighter, pulls slowly and firmly on him, long strokes getting shorter. His hips start to roll against her hand and she presses her stomach into his ass, wedging her body against him, wanting to feel every inch of him that she can. She moves with him, her strokes quickening, and there's warmth spreading inside her abdomen at the idea that she may actually get him off this way, pressed together in the steam, water streaming down their bodies.

She digs her fingernails into his hip and he groans. She flattens her palm against the head of his cock, circling, then strokes him again, over and over. His hand is gripping her arm and she can feel each of his fingers tensing against her muscle.

"Scully," he growls through gritted teeth, his body tensing.

"It's okay," she breathes, stroking him faster. "It's okay. It's okay."

She hears him gasp and his body shudders. He groans and she clings to him, her body throbbing, her head spinning. She squeezes him hard and with three more strokes he cries out, bucking his hips into her hand as he comes. Her lips part as she gasps with him, leaning onto him, their bodies slipping against each other.

The only sounds are their breathing and the now-lukewarm water hitting their skin, tapping against it like a drumbeat, like her heart fluttering in her chest. She slips her hand up and slides her arms around his waist as he stands up straight with a deep, shaking breath.

"Hi," he says, putting his hands around his back to run his fingers up her sides. She shivers and kisses his back.

"Hi," she says. "Do you feel adequately clean now?"

He laughs softly and looks over his shoulder. She looks up and their eyes meet. "More than adequately clean."

She pulls away and backs up, folding her arms across her chest as the reality of what just occurred starts to sink in. She feels a strange mixture of confidence and shyness--there's a part of her that wants him to turn around and a part that doesn't.

"I'm going to get out," she says. "Okay? I'm going to grab one of your shirts and meet you in the living room."

He turns sideways and looks at her. His wet hair is in strands down his forehead and he smiles at her, a small smile that makes her stomach do flips. He doesn't look at her body, doesn't stray from her eyes.

"Thank you," he says.

She laughs, a blush spreading over her cheeks. "Please don't thank me for that."

"Well, you have to admit, you went above and beyond partnerly duties. Or doctorly ones. I doubt they teach that in sponge bath class."

"I didn't do it as your partner, or as your doctor," she says, pushing her damp hair behind her ear. He nods his head and chews on his lower lip.

She pushes the shower curtain aside and steps out onto the bath mat, pulling the towel off the rack. She dries her body and starts wrapping the towel around her.

"I only have one towel," he says from behind the curtain as he turns off the shower.

She grins and tightens it around her body. "You'll figure out something."

  



End file.
